Letter to You

I’m still gripped and/or gripping onto the same chapter; it’s a flat parallelogram spinning through space. Some days I’m on top of the thing, riding it like a cowboy, screaming descriptions of my predicament with the ease of a god who sees all. Other days I’m clinging to the bottom as it falls to crush me. I can’t seem to find the words to describe it to myself, much less other living beings. I hate this whole paragraph, and fear what it means for the rest of the day.

I found red dust on my guitar the other day. It was blood.

The nights are humid and filled with sweat. Smokes circles low from sticks in our mouths. Water is brought to tables which as much reverence as the booze.

The other night Joshua and I took a small walk. The cards are nearly here and we needed to talk about it, to talk about that the fuck we were doing. It is a hard thing to wait a year and a half for something, when the world is waiting on you, and the very real fear that you might be a fool is dangled in front of everyone. My life is a war banner proclaiming myself an idiot. I guess I’ll just keep marching forward and hoping it looks cool to admit it.

I spent the week working on Spell Saga again, making lists and things, reading comments and messages from previous fundraisers, and generally reacquainting myself with people. It was good to do so. It feels like a return. My war banner graces the gates of previous conquest.

“Where have you been?” they will ask.

“Bringing back the treasure I said I would bring.” will be my response. Then I will dismount my horse, tripping on my banner and face-first into a revered man with one leg.

“He killed Donathan!” a child will scream.

The amount of both time and money these treasures have taken may leave scars for the rest of my life. But this is what I wanted, and in the end it will be truly incredible.

I have not worked on the novel in days. But I’m out of the snow, and still following the trail of fire. Now I crawl through a cave with The Elf and her prisoner. The fire is starting to die, flickering in and out like a heartbeat, waiting to leave me in darkness. I know how the chapter ends, and I think I’m ready to go back there, and visit it again.

Before I work two jobs. Before band practice this week. Before the amount of money I need can suffocate me.

I must say, I felt much more hopeful than before I wrote this all out. There’s been a sound in the back of my head for days and now I realize the sound is fear of failure.